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Well old Bob hasn't got much but he values his boots |
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He values the time he spends growin' flowers |
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He still loves his babies that grew to be men |
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He recalls all the days 'n' nights and the hours |
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When he and his woman worked on the land |
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In the heat and the dry, in the cold and the wet |
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He still picks her a rose and his old heart still races |
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She's still the most beautiful girl that he's met |
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And you ask is he happy...and you ask is he happy...? |
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He's got wrinkles from smiling, he feels lucky and free |
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And he knows what it means to live here in the sunshine |
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He's got wrinkles...... |
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He walks with Amelia down to the store |
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With a little cane basket for the bread and the daily Sun |
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Still hand in hand like babes in the meadows |
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And young faces turn |
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Love is so beautiful, it can be so deep |
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And a man is a king when he has his own princess |
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Bob wears no crown, no long flowing robe |
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But there in his mind he still rides on his black stallion |
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Then a cold winter came, and Bob was alone |
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His beautiful princess had flown with the angels |
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He faded so quickly, the man became old |
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And the wandering dew soon covered the roses |
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First just a cane, then a strong stick for walking |
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Then just a chair with a grey old man dying |
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All that he lived for was always beside him |
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So Bob left in peace, to join his lady |
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And you ask is he happy...and you ask is he happy...? |
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He had wrinkles from smiling |
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He felt lucky and free |
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And he knew what it meant to live here in the sunshine |
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He had wrinkles...... |